


A Mention of Solomon Little

by AngryPirateHusbands



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 04:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13651896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngryPirateHusbands/pseuds/AngryPirateHusbands
Summary: Overcome with fever, Silver mentions a name Flint has only heard two times prior.





	A Mention of Solomon Little

The past several days had dragged by in a grueling blur. It had been three days since they had left Charlestown behind. Or rather, the smoking husk of all that remained by the time the deafening boom of their cannons had finally fallen into fragile silence. It had been two days since they had left Tortuga to garner news and resupply. One day since Silver finally managed to regain consciousness for a period longer than just a few minutes. Since he opened his mouth to spout yet another lie, only this time it was to _him_.

It went without saying that Flint had thrown himself into his duties. Not only did it stave off the harsh realities of Miranda’s loss, of which he was still rather numb, but it also helped to quell the anger burning a pit of fire in his belly. Not towards Charlestown and Peter Ashe, not now, but towards Silver. Ever since they had taken the Spanish Man O’ War, Silver had been integral in every single step towards recovering the gold. From tempering the crew’s lingering resentment to turning the tides towards recapturing the fort. And here he had been scheming behind his back the entire time.

Flint felt betrayed. He had been swindled, lied to, used. Played like a fiddle by that same mouth that had deceived the crew time and time again. Only he had fooled himself. He had thought himself different, above the rest of them, and why? Because those same lips had traveled across his own when the two of them were hidden behind closed doors? Because he had not only snuck a taste of that silver tongue, but reveled in it? It was not just that Silver had betrayed him. It was the fact that he had been foolish enough to trust him in the first place. Yet despite all that, he still felt that dull ache within his chest, pained with the guilt that resulted from Silver’s own loss. It was maddening.

The moment Flint opened the door to his cabin he abruptly halted in his tracks. Though Silver had spent some time awake the day before, long enough to weave another web of lies at least, he had eventually succumbed to the embrace of sleep once more. Not that that was in the least bit unexpected, considering the severity of his injury. He had suffered a great deal of trauma, not just from the excruciating pain but from the blood loss as well. It was clear that his recovery would be a long one. And so he had entered his chambers expecting to see Silver lying still against the cushions of the window seat. Instead he was awake. Not only that, but he was standing.

“The fuck are you doing?” Flint practically growled as he rushed forward.

Silver stood hunched over his desk, his palms planted against the charts and papers strewn across the wooden surface so that he could better support his weight. His skin that was usually warm from the sun now held an unnaturally pale hue. Sweat beaded along his forehead, a drop falling from his brow as those blue eyes angled upwards.

Flint grabbed the man’s arm to make sure that he remained steady. The last thing he needed was for him to pass out on his floor. “What are you doing?” he repeated.

Silver could only offer a minute shake of his head. His breath was practically huffing from his chest as he panted from the exertion of making it this far. Howell had decided against providing a crutch this early on for this exact reason: To encourage bed rest. Yet the stubborn man had found it in himself to hop partway across the room.

“Silver,” Flint tried again. The grip on his arm tightened.

Again Silver shook his head, but not before pushing weakly against his hand. “I can’t,” he eventually offered. Even from uttering those two words he sounded completely winded. “I can’t–!”

When Flint finally managed to get a better glimpse of his face he saw that those usually calm eyes were wide, the pupils blown. Wide, wild, and unseeing. Despite the color lacking from his complexion, the moment Flint pressed his palm against his forehead he could feel the fever that burned beneath his skin.

“Fuck,” Flint breathed. He pulled at Silver, ignoring the protests as he slung his arm across his shoulder and practically dragged him back to the window seat. A slew of curses and swears immediately flitted from Silver’s mouth. Hands shoved against his chest, an elbow knocking against his ribs as he tried to wriggle free. Part of him wanted to give in and let the lying thief drop to the floor. However, it was only a small part, one that was quickly drowned beneath the weight of his persisting concern.

The moment Flint got him somewhat settled he let out a piercing whistle. A low, steady tone that proved effective not moments later when Billy poked his head in from behind the door. “Get Howell,” he ordered before the bosun could even open his mouth. The man offered a curt nod before disappearing once more. Flint would have left to fetch the man himself, but with the way Silver still pushed against him, he gathered the moment he stepped away he would be trying to escape once more. He’d rather not find out just how far he could get.

“–Go!” Silver struggled. “Let go of me!” The man was in an absolute panic. Whether or not it was genuinely linked to the injury or simply a delusion fueled by the fever, he had no idea. And in all honesty, at this moment he didn’t quite care. He just needed to get him calm before he tore through the stitches or found some other way to hurt himself.

“For fuck’s sake,” Flint swore as he held him pinned at the shoulder. “Would you calm down a little–”

“Don’t call me that!” Silver all but shouted. The outburst was enough to give even Flint pause. However, it was quickly muddled over by confusion.

“What?”

“I told you I hate that name,” Silver pressed vehemently. Despite the fingernails biting into his forearm, he at last seemed to settle somewhat. At the very least, he no longer seemed determined to shove him off so that he proceed to collapse to the floor. Instead Silver shook his head, his brow furrowed and damp with beads of sweat, as a tongue reached out to wet his lower lip. “Solomon Little,” he relented then, his voice but a broken whisper. “I hate that name. I hate it..!” His chest shuddered. It was almost as though he couldn’t catch his breath, as if speaking that name had taken all that was left in him.

Flint’s own brow furrowed then. Solomon Little… The man whose name he had heard only once or twice, and always at the center of one of Silver’s stories. To his knowledge, the only one that held any sliver of truth was when he had told him of the orphanage. And all this time this figure, this figment of a tale, was him.

The man sighed before weighing his next words carefully. “It’s alright,” Flint eventually soothed. Or rather he tried to, as he doubted the usual rough edge of his voice could possibly hold any degree of comfort. “You aren’t… Solomon Little anymore. Let’s never speak of that name again, alright? He’s gone.”

Silver’s fingers clutched at his arm almost desperately. When he next released a breath it sounded like a gust of wind wracking through his chest.

“You’re John now,” Flint continued after a moment. “John Silver.” It wasn’t until after Silver managed to offer a minute nod that he noticed his cheeks were damp. What’s more, when those crystalline blue eyes opened they were wet. Glassy and wide and just as tumultuous as the seas that stretched beyond the bay window. The sight caused a lump to form in Flint’s throat; one that was promptly forced back down.

The moment the door banged open Flint immediately stood to make room for Howell. Yet the moment he so much as took a single step away that hand reached out to stop him in his tracks. Silver’s fingers latched onto his wrist with a grip so tight it was as if his life depended on it. As if he were getting pulled down beneath the waves, drowning beneath the weight of it all, and he was the only tether within sight. The fear in those blue eyes only confirmed his thoughts.

A weary sigh passed Flint’s lips as he rubbed at his temple with his free hand. His own eyes closed briefly as he cast aside his warring thoughts and settled his decision. With Silver’s hand still clutching to his wrist, and without stepping away any further, Flint scraped his desk chair across the floor so that he could sit down.

With Flint at his side, Howell began to look over their newest quartermaster. He touched his forehead briefly before setting a wet cloth against it to help stave off the fever. He checked his pupils, voiced questions that Silver could just barely manage to answer either with a shake of his head or nonsensical mumbling. By the time Howell proceeded lower to unwind the bandages around the fresh stump, Flint was no longer paying attention. Instead his eyes were locked on Silver’s face. On the rabbiting pulse in his neck and the fever that darkened his cheeks, on that strong yet broken gaze that held his own.

Flint was drowning beneath the rushing swell of his own seas. He had been for several years, and now moreso than ever now that Miranda was lost to him as well. Yet here at Silver’s side he would stay. He would be that tether the man so desperately needed in this moment. He would be the one to keep him afloat, until he was once again strong enough to stand tall and steady on his own. It didn’t matter the lies he had told again and again. It didn’t matter the trust he had betrayed, the riches he had stolen from beneath his nose. For now he realized he was drowning in him. And so here he would stay, keeping the man’s head above the rushing water, until that rope was cut and he was eventually cast aside once more.


End file.
